Stampede!

by Matt Chisholm

  Mart stepped out into the open, hurrying forward like a man bent on urgent business.

  The guard just stared at him.

  “You Harry Brett?” Mart demanded. He had to get close without that damned greener being lowered.

  “Who?”

  The man’s attention was on the flames. They lit his face.

  “Harry Brett?”

  “I never heard of him.”

  “It’s his place that’s on fire. “

  “My place is over there,” the man said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Watt.”

  “I heard the name. It’s across the street from this place.”

  The man gave him his full attention.

  Mart tore his gun from leather and swung it. The man started to lower the shotgun and the barrel of Mart’s weapon struck his hand. He dropped the greener with a cry of pain. Mart caught him by the coat, nearly swung him off his feet and swung his gun again. This time he found his target. The man gave a muffled cry, fell to his knees, made a titanic effort to regain his feet and fell on his face.

  Mart didn’t wait. He jumped for the door of the store. At that moment, a man ran down the alley beside the building, shouting: “Henry, Henry.”

  Without stopping Mart went around the corner of the building and charged the man, head down. He caught the man amidships and bore him backward. The man back-pedaled a few yards and fell on his back. They landed in a heap. Mart launched himself up and forward, landed his knees on the man’s belly and heard the wind go out of him. To make sure, he hit him with the gun.

  He didn’t stick around. He got to his feet and ran for the rear door again, hurling himself with all his strength against the door.

  It was stoutly built and it resisted him. The whole building shook to its foundations and Mart stood there for a moment, half-stunned. He reckoned there must be an iron bar on the far side. For a second he was tempted to go around the front and challenge the guards head on with a gun in his hand.

  Two men came shouting down the alley and, thinking they had come to attack him, he crouched back against the wall with his gun in his hand. To his surprise they ran on past him toward the fire. As soon as they were gone from his sight, he backed up from the door and tried another charge. This time he succeeded no better than the first. He started to feel desperate. The owner surely had made himself safe from robbers.

  He made up his mind, holstered his gun and walked along the alley. At the street, he turned left and saw two men standing outside the store. Calmness being all, he walked straight up to them. Only in the last second did he realize that the big man with his arm in a sling was Sloan. However, before the giant could lift the gun he held against his left leg, Mart lifted his own gun from leather and presented it.

  “Inside,” he said.

  Sloan stood for a moment, perilously tempted to lift the gun and fire, but his good sense got the better of his impetuosity. He dropped the gun to the ground. The other man gave a gasp of surprise and fright. He flung down his shotgun as if it were red-hot. Hastily, he opened the door. Mart motioned the giant to get inside.

  There was a lamp burning in the store. It stood on the counter. There was a man sitting on the counter. He looked like he had just come awake. Maybe he had slept through the fire alarm and had been awakened by Mart’s assault on the rear door. He blinked in a bewildered kind of way at the entering men.

  “One move outa you,” Mart said in a truly professional manner, “and somebody gets then-head blown off.”

  The man looked at him in amazement and dismay.

  Sloan said: “You can’t get away with this.”

  “If I fail,” Mart said, “you won’t live to see it. Where’s my brother?”

  “Your brother?” said the man who had carried the shotgun.

  “Will Storm.”

  “He’s out back.”

  Mart herded his prisoners through the store, but not before he had dropped the bar on the street door.

  They came to a door.

  “He’s in there,” said a man.

  Mart called: “You in there, Will?”

  “Yes.”

  “Open her up.”

  “I don’t have the key. The colonel has that.”

  “You,” Mart said to Sloan, “kick it open.”

  Sloan looked as if he would like to refuse, but one good look at Mart and his cold eyes and he knew better than to refuse. A lot of his manhood had seeped out of him in the last few seconds. He gave the door one good kick with his heel and it flew open.

  Will stepped blinking into the lamplight.

  He looked at Mart and said: “I reckon I’m pretty glad to see you, hermano.”

  “Ditto,” said Mart. “Find a gun and let’s get outa here.”

  Will walked past him and found a gun. He found powder and shot too and filled his pockets.

  He came back and said: “We’d best tie these three up or they’ll raise the alarm.”

  “There’s no time,” Mart said, “I aim to kill em.”

  Will looked at him sharply, almost believing it.

  The three men believed it all right. Their scare gave Mart a little sharp pang of pleasure. It was small payment for what they had done to Will.

  “They ain’t worth hangin’ for,” Will said.

  “All right,” Mart said, “down on your faces, all of you.”

  He had never seen men move faster in all his life. When they were down he covered them while Will bound them hand and foot with some of the storekeeper’s rope. Then he gagged them. They were immobile and silent.

  “Go out the rear,” Mart said. “We ride straight for Texas. I ain’t foolin’ around in this country no more.”

  They went through the storeroom and lifted the bars on the door. They paused for a moment to check that nobody was around, then they walked out as casually as they knew how. They walked to the street where the horses were tied, passing men who didn’t give them a second glance. The fire was going nicely now. Sherring and his friends had done a good job.

  “That’s what all the furor was about,” Will said and stepped aboard the horse.

  They rode out of town.

  When they were clear of the last building, “We’re goin’ west,” Will said.

  “That’s where we’re headed,” Mart said. “Now don’t you start an argument. For once in your fool life you’re goin’ to do like I say.”

  “Well, I owe you somethin’, I suppose,” said Will, surly.

  They rode on in silence. They covered the miles, letting the horses run easily. They rode till dawn and Mart reckoned that was far enough. They halted.

  “What’re we stoppin’ for?” Will said. He looked drawn and tired. He looked around. There was no reason on earth to stop in the center of an ocean of buffalo grass.

  “You go on alone for a while,” Mart said. “I’m headed back to camp. You ride till your horse can’t go no farther, then you stop. We’ll meet you there, one of us, some of us, how the hell should I know which?—”

  “Some note,” Will said. He looked pretty down in the mouth.

  “Cheer up,” Mart said, “at least your neck ain’t stretched.”

  Will smiled wryly and touched his neck.

  “That’s a point,” he said.

  “There’s food and water on your horse. Go easy on it, it has to last. Keep goin’ in a straight line.”

  “You reckon you’ll find me?”

  “Joe’ll find you. We’ll cut your tracks.”

  “All right. See you, Mart.”

  “See you, Will.”

  Mart turned and rode south-east. When he looked back, he saw that Will was loping steadily on west. He felt pretty good. Some of the things that Will had done for him in the past had been repaid. Not that he could ever repay Will for what he had done.

  He didn’t reach camp till the end of the afternoon. He didn’t fear for Will too much, for he reckoned that the Abilene men wouldn’t follow him west, they’d just
be thankful they had driven him out of town. That was the way these things went. It was possible that Sloan might urge them to come and search the camp for him, but that didn’t worry Mart too badly.

  Martha sighted him from away off. She was there running to meet him as he rode in.

  He halted and stepped down beside her.

  “He’s all right, Martha.”

  “How all right, Mart?”

  “He’s free.”

  He told her what had happened as they walked toward the wagon. Kate, Melissa and the crew came out to meet them. They heard the news and nearly went wild. Mart told them everything except where Will was. He told Martha that she’d be seeing him fit and well in a few days. He thought he had never seen a happier woman. The news broke through Kate’s newly assumed silence and she wept noisily. It was good to see. Melissa, who had been unaware of what had happened to her father, was puzzled by the noisy jollity that filled the camp.

  Martha said: “There’s two strangers in camp, Mart.”

  Mart went still and looked toward the wagon.

  Sure enough there were two men sitting beside the fire. They looked like townsmen.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Who are they, Martha? “ Mart asked.

  “They say they’re cattle-buyers,” she told him.

  “What?”

  He pushed his way through the crew and strode toward the fire. The two men rose to meet him. One was dressed like a city man in a good dark suit, a silk vest, gold watch-chain and a hard hat. He had iron-gray hair and he was beaming like a travelling salesman as he held out his hand.

  The other man was a big beefy fellow, dressed in a drab-colored corduroy suit with the pants tucked into high boots. He favored a wide-brimmed hat. He also offered a warm embracing smile and extended his hand. In fact, the two men seemed to vie with each other to get to him first. They also introduced themselves at the same time so Mart didn’t catch a word. He shook both hands and said: “I’m Mart Storm.”

  The hard hat said: “Happy to know you, Mr. Storm, happy to know you, sir.” He sounded like a Yankee.

  Corduroy suit said: “Really proud to know you, Mr. Storm,” and did one better. “I’m Arthur Burrows.”

  “Name’s Wilbur Foresight,” said hard hat.

  “What can I do for you two gentlemen?” Mart said.

  “I’m buying cattle,” they both said together.

  “I would like to point out, sir,” Burrows said, “that I was here first and I have prior claim. I am making a fair offer.”

  Mart caught the drift right off.

  He cut off Foresight’s protests with a lordly wave of his hand. When it came to a hard trade, Mart prepared to enjoy himself. This was going to make up for the long weary miles from the Nueces.

  “What do you call a fair offer?” he asked gently.

  “Ten dollars a head regardless of weight and condition,” Burrows said breathless stumbling the words one after another, trying to get it all in before his competitor interrupted him. “Even a proud owner such as yourself could hardly call these creatures prime.”

  “That isn’t a fair offer,” exclaimed Foresight, “and you know it. You don’t fool Mr. Storm, Burrows, and you know it. He’s a man of perception and experience. Those cows out there are worth every cent of eleven dollars a head.”

  “I can go to other herds around here,” declared the other, “and find cattle at less than that without effort.”

  “Then why’re you here?” Mart asked softly.

  That took the wind out of his sails for a second.

  “All right,” he said, “I’ll go to twelve dollars and not a cent more.”

  Mart walked away, went to the fire and helped himself to coffee. The two men followed him. The women and the crew gathered around to watch and listen.

  Mart said: “You’re wastin’ my time. Gentlemen, I’ve had a better offer than that in town.”

  “Who from?” Foresight demanded.

  “Tim Holt,” Mart lied easily. He looked them both in the eye in turn.

  “Tim Holt don’t have a dime to his name,” Burrows shouted.

  “That’s where you’re mistaken,” Mart said smoothly. “He’s found a partner.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “He showed me the money.”

  “And you didn’t accept his offer?”

  “It wasn’t high enough. Today this has turned into a seller’s market.”

  The two buyers looked at each other.

  Burrows said: “How much did he offer you?”

  “Eighteen dollars.”

  “Eighteen dollars!” they exclaimed in unison.

  “It’s not possible,” Burrows said almost in despair.

  Mart said: “If you don’t have that kind of money, gentlemen, I suggest you partake of our rough hospitality and ride back into town.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  Foresight tried to look nonchalant and said: “Eighteen dollars fifty.”

  Burrows looked as if he would choke.

  Finally, he ground out: “Nineteen dollars.”

  “That sounds like a fair offer,” Mart said.

  “You take it?” Burrows said eagerly.

  “Sounds pretty sweet to my ears,” Mart declared.

  “Twenty dollars,” said Foresight. “How sweet does that sound, Mr. Storm?”

  “Like heavenly music,” said Mart.

  Burrows stared at them both for a moment, then turned and without a word walked to his horse. He heaved himself clumsily into the saddle and rode off toward town.

  Foresight said: “Bad loser. Even forgot his manners.”

  Martha invited him to eat with them. He accepted graciously. They talked business during the meal with a bright eyed crew listening. Martha and Kate waited on them and the mother and daughter glowed. Mart had to fight to keep the silly grin off his face.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was a strange sensation, sitting in the middle of nowhere waiting for a man to find you. Will staked the horse in the middle of an old buffalo wallow so that it would be out of sight. He took up his own position on the crest of a knoll from where he could get a pretty fair view of the country. He waited the day out, eating sparingly of the food that Mart had supplied him with. He saw scarcely a sign of life all day. Once he saw movement to the north and thought it to be a small band of wild horses. At another time a small herd of antelope came within half a mile of him. He slept that night in the buffalo wallow near his horse, fearful to lose the animal, for to be caught on foot out in this country could mean disaster.

  The following day, he put the horse on fresh grass and gave it a little water from his canteen. He kept a sharp lookout for Indians. He didn’t know too much about the hunting grounds of the Indians in these parts, but he reckoned he might spot Cheyenne or Arapaho. He didn’t look forward to meeting either. In the afternoon, he went on west in search of water and, luck being with him, he found some before dark. It was in a deep gully and here he found shelter from the strong wind that was now blowing from the north. He felt better now that he had a water-supply close to hand. There was brushwood down here. If Mart and the family didn’t turn up soon, he could shoot game and light a fire to survive.

  It was on the third day that he spotted a lone horseman coming from the east, following along the sign he had left in the grass. He drew his gun and waited. But there was no need for caution; the rider turned out to be Joe. He rose and went forward to meet him.

  “I’m pretty glad to see you, Joe,” he said.

  He saw that Joe’s leg was done up in bandages. Riding could not have been easy for him.

  Joe said: “The folks’re comin’ Will. Be here tomorrow.”

  Will wanted to know what had happened, but the Negro was morose and laconic. Try as he could, Will couldn’t get anything out of him beyond the fact that the family were well.

  “What about the cattle?” Will asked.

  “Mart, he done make some arrangement,
I reckon.” And that was all Will could get out of him. He didn’t wait for any more. After an admonition for Will to stay put, he rode back the way he had come. Will fumed a little. He spent the rest of the time fretting there, wondering about the future, wondering what the hell he did next. Had Mart lost the herd? Did they now make their way ignominiously back to Texas?

  It was noon the next day when he sighted the white top of the wagon. For a moment, he was overcome with emotion at the thought of seeing his family again. Then he hurried back to saddle the horse. Then he was riding through the buffalo grass and the wagon was coming nearer and nearer. There was Martha and the girls waving to him. Riders came streaking away from the wagon, riding toward him. One of them was yelling. That was Jody. A moment later, they were all around him. By God, they were all there. The whole durned crew had stayed together. Clay, George, Jody, the Mora cousins, the Quintin brothers, Manning Oaks, Mart. His hand was shaken, his back pounded.

  He never knew that his men felt like this about him.

  They were all turning, cantering back to the wagon and in a moment, Martha was in his arms. They were all laughing together. He lifted up little Melissa, tossed her screaming into the air. Then his arm was around Kate, a Kate who smiled again. Suddenly, it was a wonderful world he was in.

  It was some time before a sobering thought hit him. It was the sight of old Blue, the ox, tied behind the wagon that did it.

  He turned to Mart—

  “What about the cattle, Mart?” he asked.

  Mart looked solemn. Will looked at all their faces—they were long-drawn. Mart walked to the wagon, reached over the tailboard and brought out a large leather bag. He hefted it over to Will and dropped it at his feet.

  “There’s something like sixty thousand dollars in there,” he said.

  Will stood stunned.